Promise Me
by Hopscotch and Link
Summary: [epilogue added] COMPLETE! "Promise me that you ain't gonna die like this." "I promise," Race whispered. The boy smirked as he closed his eyes. "Now was that so hard" (slash, language, violence)
1. Betrayal

**DISCLAIMER: **We, Hopscotch and Link, say that we do not own any of the characters from Newsies. Disney does. Screw them.

**Hopscotch**: Link wants to. She's a freak. Trust me...

_Link: _Hopscotch is just jealous because I officially own Racetrack, the hottest guy (unless you consider Gabe) in the movie, and she wants him.... But NEVA!! HE'S ALL MINE!

The Disney Republic army comes to reinforce the copyright laws on Racetrack and Spot

_Link:_ NOOO! grabs a squeaky hammer I've got a... checks to see what she grabbed ... a squeaky hammer, and I know how to use it! waves the squeaky hammer around

**Hopscotch**: ...Shit

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Promise Me 

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"Tell me I'm just seein' things; just tell me I'm seein' things..." Spot said.

Racetrack reluctantly replied, "No, you ain't seeing things, that's Jack. What's he doin'?

Spot spat on the ground. "He's dressed like a scabba!"

"Jack? Look at me, will ya? Look, it's me, Mush! What're you doin'?" said Mush.

"This ain't happenin'. This can't be happenin'! What're you _doin'_, Jack?"

Boots pushed to the front of the crowd. "Hey, what is this? Where'd ya get them clothes?"

Weasel, who had been standing proudly by Jack, spoke up. "Mr. Pulitzer picked him out hisself. A special gift to a special, new employee."

"I don't believe this, he sold us out!" Spot was furious. Racetrack stood by Spot's side and yelled at Jack.

"Look at 'im in his little suit. You bum! I'll soak ya!"

"Hey, hey, hey! Lemme get my hands dirty. Come here ya dirty rotten scabba! Traitor!" Spot dove for Jack, but several newsies came and dragged him away. Race managed to evade the others and ran up to Jack.

He whispered menacingly, "I'll soak ya real good, just like ya taught me." Then he punched Jack in the face. Jack looked at Racetrack, but didn't move to fight, just massaged his hurt face with his hands.

"Dirty scabba, you make me sick!" Race spat in Jack's face, and Weasel grabbed Racetrack from behind. "Lemme go! Gettoff me!" He fought to break free. The other policemen, who were watching the newsies warily, came to Weasel's aid. Racetrack kicked one of the police in the leg. The policeman whipped out a gun and shot Race in the foot he'd used to kick with. Race cried out in pain, but continued to fight. The other newsies saw this, and ran to overpower the police. They got control of the guns quickly, with few casualties. David asked Spot to get Jack, and he grudgingly obliged.

Spot quickly involved himself in a fight to get through the throng of people gathered outside the World building. When he got through, he saw two things. To his left, Snyder was leading Jack away through the crowd. Spot started to follow them when the second sight caught his eye. It was the Delanceys and Weasel dragging Racetrack away. Spot hesitated, wanting to follow Racetrack, but knowing that he had to get Jack. After a moment of indecision, Spot gave up and ran after Racetrack.

Spot cut through an alley and climbed a tree the four of them would soon pass under. When they did, Spot called out, "Hey Delanceys, I'se wonderin', do ya eat shit for dinna, or was ya born wit screwed up faces?" While the Delanceys looked for the source of the insult, Spot swung out of the tree and kicked one of them in the chest. He stumbled backwards, tripped over Race's foot, and fell down. Oscar pulled Spot out of the tree. Race screamed in pain. He stood up, looking like he was ready to help, but collapsed as soon as he put weight on his foot. He watched as Spot fought the Delanceys.

Spot did a good job holding his own during the fight, until he heard race cry out. "Spot, look out!" He didn't even get a chance to look around as a plank connected with his head. Spot lost consciousness; the last thing he heard was, "Spot! Weasel, you bastard, I'll getcha for this..."

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A/N:

Sietz's name will be changed to Sykes for the sake of sounding evil. I mean, come on, what kind of evil guy has a name like... Sietz?

**Hopscotch:** Him.

_Link: _Um. Yeah. I meant OTHER than – oh, never mind.

The Manhattan Newsies Lodging House has gone under construction and the bunks are now on the first floor. This is because Kloppman is too old to climb the stairs every morning, and because Link is lazy and doesn't want to change the scenes in the Lodging House, because Hopscotch JUST NOW pointed out the fact that they are on the second floor. Tell me a little before the second I post!

**Hopscotch:** Then I won't tell you that I'm secretly in love with you... LINK, I LOVE YOU!

muffled Link, goddamnit! Get away from my keyboard!

**Hopscotch: **HA! I got your keyboard! Good thing mine has a lock on it...AHHH! Hopscotch, get away from my lock with the paperclip, damnit!

REAL Hopscotch proceeds to pick the lock protecting Link's keyboard

_Link:_ Link, would you just give me back my keyboard, please?

**Hopscotch:** Password protected!

_Link: _Real Hopscotch brings out waffle frier Oh REALLY?

**Hopscotch:** ohshitohshitohshit!

After short battle, each regains their own keyboard

_Link:_ DAMN YOU HOPSCOTCH!

**Hopscotch: **hehe, wait NO!!!

_Link:_ takes out zippo I have the flame! Bow to me, you fickle mortal! catches hand on fire Wait, NO, No, this isn't supposed to happen! Listen to me! I am your master! screams and runs to the bathroom in panic HOPSCOTCH? WHERE'S THE FRICKIN' BATHROOM!?!

**Hopscotch:** Oh, yeah, I've been meaning to tell you about that... remember that bomb you tried to put together? Well, when it went off, it took the bathroom with it.

_Link:_ NOOOOOOOOoooooooo...

**Hopscotch:** watches Link twitch You know, you might want to get that hand looked at...


	2. Testing Loyalites

**Disclaimer:**_(a.k.a. Link) _You know the drill. Only Link has rights to the Newsies...

**Hopscotch:** Psh... Tell that to them! points to Disney army

Disney army advances, brandishing copyrights

_Link:_ Gack! They're after me! takes out squeaky hammer Take that! The Disney army advances, unfazed by viscous attacks of the squeaky hammer Meep... holds up a white flag You can have him!!

**Hopscotch:** ..... stupid baby.

_Link:_ I resent that!

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Promise Me...

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"'Morning, Spotty. How ya feelin'?"

Spot opened a swollen eye and stared into Oscar's face. The smile on his face was anything but pleasant. Spot groaned and turned over, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"I'se feelin' sorry for ya, an' so I went an' gotcha a present of sorts."

Before Spot could think of what he meant, Snyder appeared, holding a club in his hands. Spot groaned. Snyder smirked, and Spot knew he made a mistake. Oscar leaned in, whispering, "Poor Spotty's scared? We can't have that, can we, Spotty?" Spot swung blindly at Oscar. The Delancey easily avoided the punch, then leaned in to taunt him again. "Uh oh. Spotty's mad. What is we gonna do?" Turning to Snyder, he said, "I think we outta show 'im what a soakin's really like." Snyder laughed, then lifted the club over his head. Oscar retreated to the back wall, smirking. Spot tensed, and felt the crack of the club as it met his body. He let out a gasp of pain. In all his years of fighting on the streets, Spot had never been in so much pain from one blow. He looked up at Snyder, who was grinning widely. "Did I hurt you, Conlon?" Spot glared at the warden, refusing to show any more weaknesses. "You're right, Delancey. He's scared out of his wits." With that remark, Spot yelled at Snyder. The roar quickly turned to a whimper, as the club hit his body repeatedly.

Spot had to give Snyder credit for his torture, however. With each blow, Snyder hit delicate skin, pressure points, or previous bruises on Spot's body. He never wasted a hit, using the club skillfully. If Spot had been watching Oscar or Morris being beaten mercilessly by Snyder, he would've applauded the thoroughness. The session dragged on, and Spot slowly lost track of time. When the beating finally stopped, Oscar ran over and spat on Spot's face, adding insult to injury. The saliva entered some of Spot's open wounds, making Spot grit his teeth to stop from crying out.

"Wouldja look at that! The king of Brooklyn, lyin' in a puddle of his own blood. The other 'un won't be as satisfyin', but who would say no to the cries of a poor, pathetic losa?" Spot's eyes snapped up. _Race! They were going to beat Race!_

"Wait," Spot whispered, swallowing the bile and mucus that was collecting in his mouth. "Don't do that to 'im. It's no fun to beat a kid wit a slug in 'is leg, so just do me. You said it yourself."

"Yeah, I'se guessing you'se right. Snyda! Spotty here wants ta be beaten for his friend in the otha room. Whadda ya say?" Snyder tried to respond, but Oscar continued. "Personally, I ain't mindin' Spotty's company. It'll be good for 'im, set 'im in 'is place."

Snyder lingered with his hand on the door. He paused to consider it, and then closed the door. _Why not? If Conlon dies, he can't stop me from beating the other one._ He turned to point the bloody club in Spot's direction. "You know I won't go easy on you. I'm going to give you twice the beatings, since you seem so eager to save your sniveling friend."

Spot swallowed his spit again, and nodded solemnly. Snyder raised his club and began to beat Spot once more.

It had been four days since Spot had received his first beating, and living was pure agony. Every part of his body was covered in bruises or bloody, infected cuts. Every morning, Oscar or Morris would come in his cell and wake him up with insults. He would've insulted them back, but he knew that it would only earn him extra beatings. Then Snyder would come in and begin to beat him. Sometimes Snyder would talk to him, giving Spot something to concentrate on besides the pain. But mostly, it was a silent process, the only sounds being the club, as it hit Spot's body, and Spot, as he screamed in pain. Then they would all go away. Oscar would come in and give him a piece of bread and some dirty water for breakfast. Then they would leave Spot alone for the rest of the day, until the sunlight disappeared from his cell window. Morris would come in with a bowl of cold soup, and wait until Spot had finished it. Spot had learned to eat everything given to him, because failing to do so also ended in additional beatings. Morris would take his bowl, and Snyder would come in. There would be more beatings, and Snyder would leave. Spot would arrange himself on the floor in the most comfortable position, and lay awake wondering where Race was until the sun came up. Spot would fall asleep, and the Delanceys would come in hours later and begin the process again. This had happened unfailingly for the past four days.

That day, Spot had woken up early and was leaning against the wall when Morris entered the room. Surprised, Morris called for Snyder. Snyder entered the room, looked threateningly at Spot, and then turned to Morris. They retreated to the opposite wall, and leaned there, talking in soft voices so that Spot wouldn't hear.

Spot watched Morris warily from the corner of his eyes. He could see Snyder lurking in the shadows of the room, stroking his club in his hands. Spot shivered as the door opened again, and looked to see who else had decided to break routine.

Spot cried out in surprise. Instead of seeing Oscar or one of Snyder's henchmen, it was none other than Jack, who had been the cause of this entire thing. Jack glanced at Spot, astonishment in his eyes, but otherwise emotionless. Snyder stood up when Jack reached him, and handed the club over. Snyder pointed at Spot, then nodded, as if this had been pre-arranged. Jack looked bewildered, as if this wasn't what he was expecting. Jack walked over to Spot's general area, and Spot managed to make enough saliva to spit at Jack's feet.

"Dirty scabba," Spot threatened.

Jack didn't respond, just lifted the club above his head, like Snyder had done every time before.

"Hey Jacky Boy, I dare ya," Spot scoffed. His voice was dry, like rattling leaves.

Jack started, unable to recognize the voice that Spot had used. Shaking his head, he brought the club down. Spot closed his eyes. Smack! Spot jumped, but didn't feel any additional pain. Cracking his eyes open slightly, he saw the club quivering against the wall. Spot breathed a sigh of relief, and slouched to the floor. Jack dropped the club to the ground. He looked at it disgustedly. Jack smiled at Spot and shook his head ruefully. Jack turned around and bumped into Morris.

"Goin' somewhere, _Jacky Boy_?" He mocked Jack's nickname and pushed him back towards Spot. Jack stumbled, but caught his balance quickly.

"Yeah, I got's unfinished business I got's ta deal wit." He punched Morris in the stomach, forcing him to double over, and then walked out of the cell. Spot could hear him break into a run as soon as the door had closed. _Stupid coward. Couldn't _really _hurt nobody if 'is life depended on it._ Snyder pushed Morris over to the door, giving him sharp orders to follow Jack. Spot smiled, knowing that Jack would be gone by the time Morris found his trail. Snyder bent to pick up the club, cradling it like an injured child. Spot snorted in disgust, knowing it would cost him, but he didn't care. He settled back against the wall, and faced his daily beating with a little more hope.

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_Link:_ By the way, in case you're wondering, the italics that aren't in quotations are people thinking. This goes for the rest of the story as well. Please read and review! We need IDEAS!!!

**Hopscotch:** Link is just saying that so she doesn't have to write anymore... lazy ingrate.

_Link:_ Hey...

**Hopscotch:** Notice how she doesn't deny it...

_Link: _takes out squeaky hammer and beats Hopscotch over the head repeatedly


	3. Innocence

**Disclaimer:** We officially ban Hopscotch and Link from writing out the disclaimer, due to the alarming number of injuries caused by both of them. In addition, Disney is suing them for the use of squeaky hammers as a weapon against their copyright army. No, neither one of them owns anything belonging to Disney: the Newsies. As for their current conditions, Disney and we don't know or care.

_Link:_ Look at that. They don't even let us tell OUR side of the story...

**Hopscotch: **Link, I don't think they CARE about our side of the story.

_Link:_ I'm going to go type protest letters and we shall go on strike from fanfiction.

**Hopscotch:** Link, I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that going on strike would make them HAPPY.

_Link:_ pouts You're just jealous that I thought of the idea first.

**Hopscotch:**Link...

_Link: _Yeah?

**Hopscotch:** Shut up.

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Promise Me...

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Racetrack woke up and stretched his cramped limbs. He got up off the dusty floor and walked over to the window. The sun was already up, meaning that the other newsies were already well into selling their papes for the day. Race sighed. He would give anything to go out on the streets again. Sitting in the cell was making him restless. There was nothing going on. Every day around noon, Oscar or Morris would come into the room with a few pieces of bread and a cup of warm water. Race and the Delancey would exchange a few insults, and then no one would come into the room until well after the sun went down. One of the Delanceys would give him a bowl of lukewarm, watery soup, and would leave him, usually without saying anything. Race would finish the soup and lay on the floor to sleep. This had gone on for five days. Nothing but endless boredom. Even thinking up new insults for the Delanceys lost its novelty after the second day. Today hadn't been any different, except that he had overslept. The bread and water were sitting next to the door. Race inspected them, and finding nothing wrong, polished off the bread and washed it down with the water. He had learned to eat fast. The faster he ate, the less time it took to get the bland taste out of his mouth. Race was going back to the window when he heard something. Race paused, not sure if he was hallucinating or not. Then it happened again. There was a banging noise on the other side of his cell door, and Race went over to see what it was. He slid aside the peephole cover and saw Snyder ramming a club into the side of the wall. Oscar was next to him, saying something softly. Race caught some of the conversation, but the words "Jack" and "traitor" and "Spot" stood out. Race slammed the cover shut and sagged against the wall. _Jack was here? And Spot? Where was Spot? _It had been four days since he had seen Spot drop down from the tree and soak the Delancey brothers for all they were worth. Race was surprised at how much the Brooklyn newsie's name made his heart pound. Race took off his hat at tugged at the brim, thinking about where Spot could possibly be. For all he knew, Spot could be in the next cell, and he would never know it...

"He did what?!" Snyder screamed. He took the club he was holding and threw it against the wall. He couldn't believe that the Kelly boy had gone back to the newsies. Didn't he know what was good for him?

Morris Delancey picked up the club and handed it back to Snyder. "Sorry sir, but it's true. I saw Jack at the Lodgin' House tellin' the othas that they'se gonna break 'em out."

Snyder calmed down and smiled. Morris shrank back, unsure of what Snyder might do. "Break them out, you say? That stupid traitor's going to get them out of _here_? Which ones did you say?"

"Well, Spot and the kid in the next cell. They'se callin' 'im Racetrack."

"Racetrack? What a disgusting name. Well, let's move them into the same cell so that I can keep an eye on them. Can't go trusting Kelly, not after he broke out last time. No telling what he could pull next." Snyder walked into Spot's cell, still muttering to himself.

"Get up you worthless piece of flesh." Snyder kicked Spot in the ribs, causing Spot to cringe in pain. Snyder didn't seem to mind; just kept prodding him until Spot managed to stagger to his feet. "We're taking a little field trip."

Spot swayed when he stood up, his head pounding. He tried to follow on his swollen feet, wondering where they were going. He hoped that he could escape, but after taking a couple of woozy steps, he knew that was out of the question. Luckily, Snyder opened the door of the cell next to his, so he didn't have to walk far. When he got there, he leaned heavily against the doorframe, trying to catch his breath. Snyder pushed him inside, then closed the door. Spot sprawled on the ground, making no effort to stand back up. Seeing Racetrack standing rigid next to Spot's body, Snyder swung his club and hit Race directly in the mouth. Race's eyes watered, and Snyder smiled, remembering the satisfaction of playing with a new torture victim.

Suddenly, Snyder felt a hand connect with his jaw. He fell to the ground and saw the Conlon kid standing above him, dazed. Racetrack stared at Snyder with a hand over his bloody mouth.

"Don't you _touch_ him! I said 'he's off limits'." Snyder would've smirked if he wasn't in pain. The Brooklyn "king" was still giving orders. He would make sure that changed as soon as the newsies had finished their rescue attempt.

"Spot... please don't." Conlon's icy eyes softened and he turned to face his friend. Racetrack smiled weakly.

"Don't worry Race, I'm done." He thudded against the wall. Racetrack lunged forward and managed to catch him as he slid to the ground. He positioned Spot's head in his lap, eyes filled with concern.

Snyder stood up. The punch didn't really hurt, but he wasn't used to being on the receiving end of the beating. He rubbed the reddening spot on his jaw, sure a bruise was forming. "Too much pride. Never know when to give up, do you Conlon?" Directed at Racetrack, he said, "No wonder he took your beatings for you."

Racetrack's eyes slowly lifted from his friend's face. He asked innocently, "He... he did _what_?"

"Took your beatings. Said something like, 'It'll be more fun to beat me than it would a kid with a shot leg.' And you know what? He was right."

Racetrack's eyes glittered with anger and confusion. Racetrack's gaze slid back to Spot's bruised face. He pleaded with his eyes for Spot to deny it, but he was silent. Snyder knew he had won.

"Don't believe me? Look at him. I gave him something to show for his loyalty." He walked out the door and locked it so that no one could get in or out without his knowing.

Racetrack waited for Snyder to come back in and say 'Just kidding', or something similar, but after a couple of minutes, the door didn't reopen. Race turned to look at Spot's face, and brushed some hair out of his eyes. Spot was resting peacefully, and his chest was rising and falling steadily. He even had a small smirk on his face. Race let his fingers wander to Spot's chest, where he took a closer look at the stains on the shirt. Snyder had said that Spot had been beaten for him. _I gave him something to show for his loyalty._ Racetrack took a deep, shaky breath and gripped the bottom of Spot's shirt. He realized that the red stains were blood. As Race revealed Spot's body, inch by inch, he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. Spot's entire torso was covered in so many bruises and infected cuts that it was hard to tell what color his skin was. Spot shivered from his skin exposure, and instinctively snuggled closer to Racetrack's body. Race put Spot's shirt down and did his best to make Spot warmer. Race wondered what Snyder could have possibly gained by putting them in the same cell. Spot coughed violently, his entire body shook with the force of it. All thoughts of Snyder and the jail left Race's mind as he tried to keep his friend warm.

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_Link:_ Awww, ish cuuute!

**Hopscotch:** You wrote it, idiot.

_Link:_ But it's so cute!

**Hopscotch: **...right.

_Link:_ Come on, say it with me... Link, you are an amazingly amazing writer, please write the rest of the story at your own leisure, I won't force you to write, in fact, I bow down to you, oh great master of the angsty fanfiction!

**Hopscotch:** Link. Shut up. Start writing the next chapter now, or I'll take your squeaky hammer. Quit waving it in my face! takes squeaky hammer

_Link:_ NOOOOO! starts writing the next chapter

**Hopscotch:** That's more like it...


	4. Rescue

**Disclaimerbot:** You know it already. Must you insist on making us repeat ourselves?

**Hopscotch:** Link, type!

_Link:_ NO! stops typing I REFUSE! NO MORE TYPING! I'M GOING ON A TYPING STRIKE!

**Hopscotch:** waves squeaky hammer in Link's face Look at what I got...

_Link:_ Give it BACK! grabs for hammer and misses

**Hopscotch:** Now, TYPE!

_Link:_ Yes sir.

**Hopscotch:** What did you say?

_Link:_ Ma'am.

**Hopscotch:** That's better.

_Link:_ mutters ...it.

**Hopscotch:** WORK!

_Link:_ starts typing furiously

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Promise Me...

-------------------

Jack had escaped from the jailhouse, and immediately headed for the Lodging House. He wasn't sure how welcomed he would be, but he had no where else to go, and Spot needed to get out of that place. As Jack walked up to the Manhattan Newsies Lodging House, but he suddenly felt watched. Turning discreetly to the left, he saw Morris out of the corner of his eye. Unable to do anything about it, Jack opened the door and headed inside. There weren't many newsies around, because most of them were out selling papes for the day. He did see Kid Blink, Mush, Skittery, and Boots sitting at a table playing cards. They had looked up as Jack walked in, and he could see them tense, ready to take him down if they had to. Jack smiled grimly. At least he'd taught them one thing: always watch your back. Even your best friend can't know too much, he could turn on you too easily. Jack sighed. He didn't know how to explain his sudden change of heart to them. If he'd been told the same story, he'd be skeptical. Jack opened his mouth at the same time the door swung open. "Guys!" It was Swifty. "The Delan-" Swifty noticed Jack standing there, and with a quick confirmation glance at the others, he knew that Jack was still under examination. He sat down and mumbled something about the headline being decent for once. Mush dealt him in, and they casually resumed their card game. Jack knew they were waiting for him to do something, because they kept glancing over at him.

Jack was ready. He walked over to the table and said in a low voice, "I know where Race is." He might as well have said that newsies were the scum of the earth, because all five of the boys jumped up and pushed him into a corner. Jack turned his back, wishing that he had a better plan. With his back venerable, he was giving the other newsies a chance to kill him. He counted to ten in his mind, then started over and counted again. When nothing happened, he peeked over his shoulder and saw that they had gone back to their game of poker. Jack breathed a sigh of relief, and walked over to the table again. No one looked up, and he cleared his throat several times before he realized they were ignoring him.

"Guys, I know ya have no reason ta trust me, but I know where Race is, and Spot too. I can't get 'em out alone, an' I need your help."

Skittery looked up at Jack, and Mush discreetly elbowed him in the ribs. Jack saw it, and took advantage of it.

"Skitts, I know that you and Race sell togetha sometimes. If we don't get 'im back soon, you ain't neva gonna be sellin' wit 'im again. Ya don't want that, do ya?" Skittery shook his head despite the glares he got from around the table. He stood up. "Jack, I'm wit ya on this one, but it don't mean I'se lettin' ya off easy." Skittery pleaded with the rest of them to help him. Jack knew he had at least saved Race and Spot, if not himself as well. Blink stood up too. "Jack, if you'se gonna ask us for help, you got's a plan. What is it?"

Jack told them how he planned to get them out. He told them that they were going to go in through the window, and drag Race and Spot out. Jack really hadn't thought of a plan, so when he had finished, the rest of the newsies looked at him expectantly. Mush even said, "So, Jack, what's the _plan_?" Jack opened his mouth to give a come back, but a rustling outside stopped him. All the newsies looked out the open door. A figure was running to the streets, but everyone had seen his face: Morris Delancey.

Two days later, Jack decided to act. He waited until dark, and woke up the five who he had originally sketched out the plan with. They stumbled out of bed and trudged to the jailhouse. When they finally made it there, Jack pulled Swifty and Skittery aside.

"Hey guys, we'se gotta get them out without Snyda knowin'. So if you two can distract 'im long enough, we can be in and out and gone like that." Jack snapped his fingers. Swifty and Skittery nodded, ready to take on the challenge. "We'se countin' on you. Do it for Spot and Race, if not for us." The two took off and shortly later, Snyder came out waving his club around and chasing the two off the jailhouse property. Jack motioned for the others to follow him, and they slipped inside easily. The bedrooms were in the back, so they had few worries about waking Snyder's henchmen. Jack located Spot's cell quickly. He took the keyring he had stolen earlier and inserted the correct key into the lock. The door opened, but when their eyes adjusted to the dim light, Spot wasn't in the room. Jack searched the entire small cell and hung his head in disappointment when he couldn't find a trace of Spot anywhere. Suddenly, Boots cried, "I found 'em!" and motioned to the next cell over. Everyone waited outside the door as Jack tried several keys in the lock, before he found the correct one. Jack kept checking through the peephole as if he was afraid Race and Spot would disappear if he stopped looking at them. He finally opened the door, and the newsies burst into the room.

Race looked up as he heard the jangling of keys outside his cell. He eased Spot's head off his lap and stood up, ready to take on Snyder if he stepped into the room. The door finally opened, and instead of Snyder or a Delancey, it was Jack. Race glared at him, thinking, _Traitor, nasty scabber._ But then, the other Manhattan newsies piled in, and Race took a moment to put all the pieces together. He shook his head, clearing out all the distraction, but Jack grabbed his arm. "Let's go," was all he said before he took off with Race. Race looked back and saw Spot lifted into Mush and Kid Blink's arms before he was whipped around a corner. When they got outside, Race could see Snyder chasing two figures, which he assumed were newsies. When the last of the newsies had gotten out of the jailhouse, Jack whistled loudly and ran. Race saw the two newsies Snyder was chasing turn and head their way. They caught up to the gang and helped Mush and Blink carry Spot to safety. Race ran hard, knowing that not even Spot could save him from a beating if he was caught again.

Snyder was out of breath from chasing the newsies when he heard a loud whistle. He glanced in the direction of the sound and recognized Jack. He smacked himself mentally on the head. Of course Jack would be leading the rescue. He wouldn't just send two newsies out to save the others. Snyder ran back to the jailhouse and woke up all his assistants and henchmen with orders to capture all the newsies they can. He wandered into his office and smiled, knowing that they couldn't get far with Spot in the state he was in. He got a cup of water and relaxed, waiting for his men to bring in the newsies.

-------------------

**Hopscotch:** Let me see what you typed. scans the page This is absolutely –

_Link:_ Wonderful? Amazing? Worth the Pulitzer Prize? ducks a punch from Hopscotch Absolutely what?

**Hopscotch:** Crap.

_Link:_ What?

**Hopscotch:** It's absolutely crap.

_Link:_ hurt tone But – I worked so hard on it...

**Hopscotch:** I DON'T CARE! REWRITE IT!

_Link:_ slumps in chair Can't... go on... too... weak... need... break...

**Hopscotch:** sets squeaky hammer in Link's lap

_Link:_ pounces on hammer It's all MINE! strokes hammer

**Hopscotch:** ...um, Link? You okay?

_Link:_ Pressioussss...

**Hopscotch:** Well, you're all better now, right?

_Link:_ Perfect, couldn't be better!

**Hopscotch:** Then do something for me?

_Link:_ Sure, what?

**Hopscotch:** WRITE THE STORY!


	5. Return

**Disclaimerbot:** The –

_Link:_ PROUD AND DEFIANT, WE'LL SLAY THE GIANT! LET US SEIZE THE DAY!

**Hopscotch:** LINK!

_Link:_ What?

**Hopscotch:** SHUT UP! You'll slay me before you slay any giants. gags You call that _singing_?

_Link:_ Like you could do any better.

**Hopscotch:** Psh. Who couldn't?

_Link:_ I'm not _that_ bad, am I?

**Hopscotch:** No, just my dead uncle in China had to plug his ears.

_Link:_ You have an uncle in China?

**Hopscotch:** Profanity calms down Watch me.

_Link:_ Watching.

**Hopscotch:** I'M THE KING OF NEW YORK! SUDDENLY, I'M RESPECTABLE, STARING RIGHT ATCHA, LOUSY WITH STATURE –

_Link: _falls to the ground, twitching AHH! My ears! They can't take it anymore!

**Hopscotch:** You can't do any better!

_Link:_ Yeah?

**Hopscotch:** Yeah!

**Disclaimerbot:** Hopscotch and Link degrade to physical dueling, and are unable to continue this entry... on to the story!

---------------------

Promise Me...

---------------------

"Guys, stop," Spot ordered. Mush and Blink slowly let go of him. Spot's strong voice, though soft, reached everyone's ears, and they all turned to face the Brooklyn leader.

Jack protested, "Spot, come on! If we don't keep movin', Snyda will catch up ta us and take you and Race back with 'em! We hafta go now."

"Don't make any difference, Jacky Boy. Wit me slowin' ya down, there ain't no way you'll get outta here. It's me they'se wantin', but they'll take ya if they catch ya. Leave me here an' go!"

"Spot..." Race pleaded.

"You know that I'se right. Cheese it!" Reluctantly, the newsies agreed with Spot, swearing they would come rescue him as soon as they could. Spot smirked and settled down against the wall. Without looking up, he could feel their concerned stares on his bowed head. He looked up at the confused faces of the Manhattan newsies. Spot laughed weakly.

"What? I'se about to get caught. Might as well get comfy before I gotta go back." A couple of the newsies let out nervous laughter, but stopped when Spot turned to look straight ahead with a grim look on his face. He pointedly refused to look any of them again. The newsies looked at each other, shook their heads, and began to walk away.

A few seconds later, Racetrack stopped and turned to look back. He took a couple hopeful steps toward Spot. Jack caught him by the shoulder and looked at Race pleadingly.

"Race, come on. We has ta go. Spot's right, we'll come back ta get 'im when we'se got a clear plan." Race stiffened. For a few moments, his taut body trembled and he balled his hands into fists. Suddenly, he whirled around, stopping inches from Jack. Race still had to look up to address Jack, but the fury in his eyes made up for it.

He hissed, "You think I'm going to _leave_ him there? After what he did for me? You have any idea what he did for me?" Race's accent left him in his anger, and Jack merely shook his head. Race lowered his voice so that everyone had to strain to hear him speak. "He made the warden beat him instead of me. He took his beatings _and _mine." Race pointed at Spot, who looked up, barely able to hear what Race was saying. "He's like that 'cause of me."

"Ra-"

"You guys go ahead. I ain't leavin' 'im." Race's accent returned, and his eyes lost their anger. With that, Racetrack turned and walked towards Spot. Spot widened his eyes as Racetrack got closer. "Race, I told ya to get outta here."

"I know."

"So what the hell are ya doin'"

"I ain't a Brooklyn newsie, so I don't gotta do nothin' ya tell me. I ain't gonna let ya get hurt for me no more. I ain't runnin' away." Race looked over at the newsies' retreating figures. Spot laughed sadly and Race looked back at him.

"You idiot. I did what I did so you _could_ run."

Race stared at Spot. _I did what I did so you _could_ run._ _Could he really let Spot's efforts go to waste? Jack did say that they would rescue him later. Could he really leave?_

Spot noticed Race's hesitation and took advantage of it.

"Race, how hard can it be? Just follow the guys afta they have me, and by tonight, I'll be back in newsie hands where I belong."

"Really?" Race looked up hopefully.

"Sure, Race." The trust in his eyes made the lie so much worse. If only it could be that easy. "Race, go wit Jack." Race turned to go, but Spot caught his hand. Race looked back surprised. _I can't let you go. I need you now._ "Promise me that you won't look back, no matter what. Promise?"

Race looked confused, but the intensity of Spot's gaze prompted him to say whatever Spot wanted to hear. "Yeah Spot. I won't look back. But that won't stop me from gettin' ya lata." He turned and ran off. Spot waited till Racetrack had rounded the corner before he laid his head down in his hands and let tears run down his face. What Spot missed was that behind the absolute trust in Racetrack's eyes, there was a sense of absolute betrayal, and when Race had turned his back on Spot, tears had streamed from his eyes too.

Spot felt so guilty as Race ran around the corner, abandoning him forever. He knew he would never see his friend again, and all he had done was made it harder for Race to let go. _I can't believe that I let them take me from the jailhouse. One more beating from Snyder would kill me for sure. If I'd stayed in the jailhouse, I wouldn't have had to lie to Racetrack. Why did I have to be so stupid?_ Spot slammed his hand against the wall behind him, causing more damage to his hand than the wall. Gripping his freshly injured hand, he leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. _Why am I so anxious around Race? We haven't known each other for very long, and yet I've been drawn towards Race ever since we met. _He smiled, thinking about the unusual circumstances that had brought them together. It was on his territory even. But it was a pity that their meeting had been ended so quickly...

Spot frowned. _Then again, it was my fault that Race left so quickly. Wasn't that always the reason? Race is willing to stay by my side, more loyal than even my own boys, yet I keep pushing him away, warning him not to get too close._ Spot shuddered as the wind swept through his thin clothes.

_Flashback_

_It was a year ago, and Spot had been in Manhattan helping Jack out with some problems. Spot had been skeptical about coming there in the light snow, and as he suspected, the drizzle had turned into a blizzard. Even without the snow, making his way back to Brooklyn in the dark was out of the question, and Spot had no choice but to stay in Manhattan for the night._

"_You can stay wit us for da night, Spot. An' don't worry about Kloppman, he don't care, s'long ya don't make a mess." Jack assured Spot._

"_Ya sure? I don't like leavin' my boys." Jack looked at Spot and laughed._

"_Fine, go back, we ain't stoppin' ya." When Spot didn't make a move to leave, Jack took his hand and led him into the Manhattan Newsies Lodging House._

_When they stepped in the room, they were attacked with blankets. The newsies crowded around, but stepped back in surprise when they found they had captured two bodies, not just one. Spot disentangled himself and looked around the room. Jack shooed the newsies away and surveyed the room with Spot. They both realized the problem at the same time._

"_Hey, Jacky? Where's I gonna sleep?" Spot questioned._

"_Um... don't worry, you'se gonna sleep in a bed. Just hold on..."His face brightened when his gaze fell on a bunk. Spot followed his gaze and shook his head._

"_No, Jacky Boy, that's Race's bed. I ain't sleepin' wit 'im."_

"_You ain't gotta worry about that. Race ain't here ta sleep wit in da first place." Spot looked around the room and saw that Race was indeed missing. Jack pushed Spot over to the bunk and forced him to sit down. "Now, you ain't gotta worry about Race. He's probably in Brooklyn, at Sheepshead. He ain't comin' back in the snow, so you'se fine." Spot was still skeptical, but didn't object. When Jack left the bunk, Spot leaned his head against the wall and watched the other newsies get ready for bed. Once all of them had settled in and the lights had been turned off, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. He was just about to fall asleep when the door slammed open. Spot jerked awake, hitting his head against the wall. He reached for his cane and sat up._

"_Who is it? My mom?" Mush asked._

"_Nah, it's Race!" Blink responded._

_Spot peered into the darkness and saw that it was Racetrack. Someone had turned on the light, illuminating Race's soaked clothes. Race was shivering violently, and a thin layer of frost covered his body. Jack jumped down from his bunk and wrapped Race in a blanket. Race huddled against Jack, trying to warm up. Spot turned his eyes away, rubbing his head._

"_Race! What happened? Ya look like ya went for a swim!" Skittery asked._

_Race started to respond, but was interrupted by a hacking cough. He tried again. "I guess, ya know, I felt like a little swim." The newsies laughed nervously, but stopped when Race coughed again. "No really," Jack asked, "What happened?"_

_Haltingly, Race told them what happened. His voice was low and soft, so that even Jack had to lean forward to hear him. "I was at Sheepshead, ya know, when it started ta snow. Da racers ain't gonna run in da snow, so I head home. I'se on da Brooklyn Bridge when I hear a voice. I turn around, and I see Morris Delancey. He don't say nothin', just looks stupid, so I soak 'im right there. I keep walkin', but then I hear a voice again. I look back, but instead of Morris, it's Oscar. I think, they multiply fasta dan a winnin' bet." The newsies laughed, and Race waited until they quieted down before continuing. "So I go ta soak 'im, but someone grabs me from behind. It's Morris. I don't know how he got there, but I'se stuck now. So Oscar says, wanna swim? Of course, I says, afta you, my honor, and Morris throws me off the Bridge. I fall on the ice. It didn't break, so Oscar starts throwin' rocks at me. He misses, but da rock cracks da ice. An' next thing I know, I'se swimmin'. The Delanceys come down and pull me out, and I think, they'se nice? They'se not Delanceys. An' right afta I think that, they start soakin' me. I manage ta run away, but it's snowin', an' I'se wet." Race coughed and the newsies erupted in action. Some of them rushed to get warm water, others got blankets for Race. Jack led Race to his bed, but stopped when he saw Spot still sitting there. Race saw him too, and coughed in surprise. "Spot? What you doin' here?" Spot didn't answer, just started to stand up._

"_No, Spot, you can sleep there. I don't need a bed tonight." Spot and Jack looked at Race worriedly, but Race shrugged off Jack's arm and pushed Spot back on the bed. "Stay there. I'se gonna soak ya if ya get out of it." He arranged himself on the ground and tucked the blanket around himself. Spot watched as Race's breathing evened out. The other newsies had gone back to their bunks and were going to sleep as well. Spot lay on his back and tried to keep his heavy eyelids open._

_Spot woke up, scolding himself for falling asleep. He stretched his arms, wondering how long he'd been asleep. Spot's right arm hit something. He turned his head and froze. It was Racetrack. His wet blanket was curled tightly around him, and Race was shivering. Spot looked at the other newsies, verifying that they were asleep. Assured that they were, he carefully peeled the blanket off Race. When he finished, Race sneezed and curled up against Spot's chest. Spot paused, unsure of what to do. He took one last look around and hesitantly put his arms around Race. He held Race, slowly falling asleep._

_End Flashback_

_What if I even liked-_ The sounds of footsteps shook Spot from his thoughts. He turned, expecting to see Snyder, and jumped in recognition.

"RACETRACK!"

---------------

Hopscotch: holding bleeding lip and displaying black right eye Link, I'm going to kill you! sits down on chair and immediately jumps back up Ah, Link! I think my BUTT'S broken!

Link: clutching stomach with good arm, laughing (other arm's bent backwards), and not noticing bleeding eye Your butt? Ha! falls to the floor, laughing – lands on arm screams

Hopscotch: God, you're an idiot. massages butt

Link: getting up It's not my fault. Wait! I can't see you! THE WORLD IS GOING FUZZY!

Hopscotch: notices Link's bleeding eye Link, you're –

Link: There's something in my eye! starts scratching eye, irritating the cut and increasing blood loss AH! I'm going blind!

Hopscotch: Ha! It's no longer Link, the idiot. It's Kid Blink, the idiot! (A/N**hopscotch:** No offense to Kid Blink or the fact that he has an eye patch. We both love Blink, but I just couldn't resist.)

Link: punches Hopscotch turns around and runs into building Ah! No depth perception! I'm dying!

Hopscotch: LINK, SHUT UP.

Link: Meep. runs into tree

(A/N_link_: Ironically, all this has happened to me. I broke my "butt", or tailbone, and couldn't sit for a week. I had to carry a rubber toilet seat around for a month after that. I cut my eye, and had a patch for a couple of days. I had no depth perception and kept running into things. I've broken my arm backwards, and it wasn't any fun straightening it out. And of course, I've had a split lip and a black eye before.)


	6. Rooftops

**Hopscotch:** Just 5 more hours until Link wakes up! Oh, I can't wait any longer. Link!

_Link:_ snoring

**Hopscotch:** Get up, Link! The day is still young!

_Link:_ waking up It's 2 in the morning, Hopscotch. Go back to bed.

**Hopscotch:** But I can't. I'm so happy!

_Link:_ You? Happy? Do those two words even go in the same sentence?

**Hopscotch:** At least I didn't say Link is smart.

_Link:_

**Hopscotch:** Ha! NO!

_Link:_ takes out zippo GO BACK TO BED!

**Hopscotch:** Meep.

------------------

Promise Me…

------------------

Snyder followed the sound of the familiar scream. It was just one word, racetrack, but the voice was unmistakable. It had to be Conlon's. Snyder and his men rounded the corner and nearly ran into two boys. Snyder barely glanced at them in verification. Conlon and… Racetrack.

The men had rounded the corner just after Spot had yelled at Racetrack, barely giving the boys a chance to recover. Without hesitation, Snyder grabbed Spot and ordered one of his henchmen to grab Race. Spot kicked and fought, and Race just stood and stood there. Snyder managed to say, "Let's go," before Spot punched him in the stomach. Snyder jerked Spot around and started dragging him along the road. There were people on the streets, but they moved out of the way as the warden and his captives came by. Despite Race's cries for help, the people just stared, like it was a parade or something. Race looked back, and watched as Spot fought with Snyder. He silently applauded Spot's effort, surprised Spot had that much strength left in him. Race flinched as Snyder punched Spot in the face. Spot slumped, unconscious. Race looked at Spot's bruised face as he thought of the time in Brooklyn they had spent together…

_Flashback_

_Race had been at Sheepshead, and despite the late time, he had continued to bet. The race had been good, and Race had made quite a bit of money. For the last race, he had been given the chance to go on the track and meet the winner: but only if he won the next bet. Carefully placing his money on Phoenix Rising (_A/N: Who, by the way, is Hopscotch's horse)_, the race began. Phoenix stayed in the middle of the pack until the last stretch, when he pulled ahead and won by three lengths. Proudly walking down to the field with the pass in hand, he heard a familiar voice. "Turn on the lights, Morris," Race spun around and saw the Delanceys walking towards the light box. Race tried to go after them, but the announcer called out, "Will…Racetrack? Please come out to the winner's circle?" Race took one last hopeless look at the Delanceys before walking out to the track. When he got there, the lights flashed on, blinding Race. He heard a frightened whinny nearby. Race could hear the hoofbeats come closer to him. Blinking furiously, he tried to regain his sight and stepped to the side, hoping to avoid collision with the horse. Finally, Race could see slightly, and saw a large horse thundering straight at him. He had no time to move, and the horse knocked him over, crushing his ribs under its hooves. Race gasped in pain, unable to scream. He saw the Delanceys nearby, laughing, but could do nothing but lay on the track. A crowd of people surged onto the field, either trying to capture the frightened horse or to tend to Race. Race was quickly surrounded by concerned people, blocking his view of the Delanceys. Race struggled to his feet, screaming in pain and rage. He gripped his side and pushed through the crowd. He ignored the pain, and punched Morris in the face. Race tried again, but was no match for the two Delanceys, beating his broken ribs. Race swayed, and collapsed on the dirt. The punching stopped, and he looked up. Instead of seeing a Delancey, he saw icy eyes. Race tried to see who it was, but the blackness enveloped him, and he lost consciousness._

_When Race woke up, he found himself in a bed. A quick survey told him that it wasn't Manhattan. Race groaned and shifted slightly. He was immediately reminded of the broken ribs. He screamed, and felt a wet washcloth drop on his face, obscuring his view. Race ripped off the towel and looked frantically for the criminal. Instead, he looked into the eyes of Spot. Calming down momentarily, he managed to gasp out a question. "Where am I?" Spot smirked and replied, "Don't ya recognize it?" When Race shook his head, Spot continued. "It's Brooklyn, genius. Where else ya gonna get da best treatment in New York?"_

"_Best treatment?" Race asked, skeptical._

"_Sure, ya got's the private room, the friendly boys, and me!" Spot pointed to himself and struck a pose. Race burst out laughing and clutched his side. "Spot, now I know where ta come for fun, but my bones ain't ready ta be rattled around." Spot stopped and repositioned the washcloth on Race's forehead. "Ah, come on. Is that how ya treat your hero?" Spot looked hurt, but Race didn't laugh again._

_A knock on the door interrupted their staring contest. Spot went over to the door and talked with another person Race couldn't see. When Spot finished, he turned to Race and said, "I gotta go tend to otha business. Yeah, I got's otha things ta worry about otha than you." With that, he left Race all alone._

_Race must have fallen asleep, because when he woke up, it was nighttime. Spot was on perched on a chair, asleep. Race grunted as Spot tilted dangerously. He watched as Spot kept tilting, and he finally fell of the chair. Waking up abruptly, he yelled, "I ain't stupid! I'll kill ya!" Then he stood up and saw that Race was there. He blushed. Race laughed and couldn't stop, even though it was painful. Spot kept turning a deeper shade of red until he ran over and pounced on Race's bed. Race screamed, sure Spot had landed on his ribs. He opened his eyes and found Spot leaning against the bed frame. He breathed a sigh of relief. Spot threw a blanket at Race, and it landed on his face. By the time Race had gotten untangled from the covers and could see again, Spot had left. Sighing, he heard footsteps above him. He looked over at the window and saw that it was open. He got out of bed as quickly as he could without hurting himself, and looked up out the window. He saw a fire escape leading to the roof. With determination, Race made it up to the roof with minor additional injuries. He looked around and almost missed the small figure leaning against the chimney. Race walked over to Spot and awkwardly sat down Spot glanced at him, but didn't acknowledge him. Race cleared his throat. Spot raised his eyebrows, and waited for Race to say something. Race didn't know what to say, so he just looked back at Spot. Finally, Spot broke the silence._

"_Race, ya ever thought about dyin'" Race glanced up, shocked. Was Spot gonna kill himself? "Race, what happens? Do we just die? Is that it?" He waited expectantly for an answer._

"_Spot, I gotta think. Don't look at me like that." Race thought about it. What did happen?_

"_Well, I guess that we won't eva know until we'se dead, right? But if ya eva meet a guy who's been there, let me know, 'cause ya made me interested." Race smiled at the joke. Spot continued looking at him. "I'se serious, Spot. I don't know." Spot looked away._

"_Well, if we don't know, then we gotta do whateva we want, before we die, I mean." Race looked puzzled. "Think about it. If we don't know what happens, we gotta do everythin' we can, in case this is it. Right?" Race couldn't see anything wrong with this point of view, so just nodded. Spot continued. "I ain't afraid of dyin', 'cause it's like fightin' a machine. No matta how hard ya fight, ya gonna lose, 'cause the machine can't die! But I'se afraid of dyin' before I get ta tell people who I really am. How I really feel. Not this Brooklyn King everyone thinks I is. I want ta be betta than normal. I don't just want ta be somethin' good, I want ta be good for somethin'." Spot stared at Race, watching his face. Race looked out over the city and said, "Spot, I don't think anyone is gonna know how ya feel unless you tell them. If I says it, they won't believe me. So why is ya tellin' me this stuff?" Race stood up, watching the sunrise. Spot started to say something. "'Cause I–," but Race had already started climbing down the ladder. When he went back to the room, Race stared into the mirror. Was there really something that scared Spot? Could he really have a soft side? Race looked out the window again. One thing was sure. Even if Spot did tell everyone how he felt, no one would believe him. Race didn't even believe him. Race shook his head and went back to the bed. He stared at the ceiling. What scared _him_ the most?_

_End Flashback _

Race was so immersed in his thoughts that he didn't realize where he was going. He quickly oriented himself with his surroundings. They had passed the Distribution Center, and were headed towards the World Building. Snyder had ordered for them to be taken to Pulitzer. Racetrack shuddered in disgust. He'd rather be back at the jail than to go there. Spot was still being dragged along, but he was no longer fighting. Race looked back, but was forced to look ahead when he nearly fell over a rock in the road. They made it to the building, and one of Snyder's men made a path through the crowd of newsies. Race wondered what they were doing here, but didn't get a chance to ask. Snyder opened the doors and pushed them inside. Race looked around in awe. He had never been in Pulitzer's building, and never planned on coming back. They climbed a flight of stairs until they made it to Pulitzer's office. Snyder knocked, and Race heard a faint "Come in, come in." Snyder brought them to the balcony of Pulitzer's office, at the top of the World building. Race looked around, surprised to see the great wealth Pulitzer displayed. Snyder stepped back, and both Racetrack and Spot waited to see what would happen.

-------------------

_Link:_ Happy, Hopscotch? I wrote the stupid chapter.

**Hopscotch:** reads the chapter Link, I have to say, you did very good.

_Link:_ blinks in surprise Are you okay?

**Hopscotch:** …yes…

_Link:_ Are you high?

**Hopscotch:** No.

_Link:_ Drunk?

**Hopscotch:** NO.

_Link:_ Alien possessed?

**Hopscotch:** NO!

_Link:_ I think you need help. Really.

**Hopscotch:** What, I can't compliment you?

_Link:_ Not while you're still sane.

**Hopscotch:** Fine. Forget I ever said that. GET BACK TO WORK!

_Link:_ There's the Hopscotch we all know and love! ducks a punch from Hopscotch

A/N:

Sorry, we haven't been doing any shoutouts, and we decided to start now. So here goes.

Tia: Thanks so much for being our first reviewer! It means a lot to know that someone is actually reading this.

**Hopscotch:** And what am I?

_Link:_ Hopscotch, you're an editor. You don't count.

**Hopscotch:** This is blasphemy. We should strike!

_Link:_ Um… sure. pats Hopscotch on the back

BlackWiltedRose: We're so glad you like it! But from now on, you must be more critical of our work. We know there's _something_ wrong with it, but we aren't sure what.

**Hopscotch:**What do you mean, we? It's all you! I have no part in this! Leave me out of it!

_Link:_ Well, if I can't get criticism, then let them give me ideas! You have no respect for my work, and you don't know how hard it is to come up with this kind of stuff on the fly.

**Hopscotch:** Fine. Let them send ideas and criticism. But don't come crying to me when they start to get nasty.

_Link:_ My dear Hopscotch, no one can be any worse than you.

**Hopscotch:** Start running away, Link.

_Link:_ Running!


	7. Ultimate Love

**Disclaimerbot: **This is a scene that actually has sentimental value to it. Surprised? You should be.

_Link:_ Hey! The whole thing has sentimental value! What about chapter 3?

**Hopscotch:** Since when did our disclaimerbot turn sarcastic?

_Link:_ I don't know, but I don't like it. Die disclaimerbot!

**Disclaimerbot:** Because I am inanimate, I cannot die, so therefore –

_Link:_ mocking I am inanimate, therefore I… bleh! Shut up and show the story or die a death by squeaky hammer! takes out squeaky hammer

**Hopscotch:** And death by waffle frier! brandishes waffle frier

**Disclaimerbot:** And on to the story!

------------------

Promise Me…

------------------

Pulitzer looked over the balcony, unconcerned with the two struggling newsies his henchmen had brought in. He watched as the newsies from all over New York gathered beneath him, like flies to flypaper. He smiled and did a small jig before continuing to watch the collecting newsies.

"Gettoff me!" Spot screamed, kicking a man in the leg. He whipped his cane out and started beating anyone within reach. The men shrank back. Pulitzer turned around and stared at them. The cronies immediately forgot the cane and dove for Spot. One man got Spot on the ground and straddled him, beating his face repeatedly. The other held down his legs and arms, creating an odd scene. Between the punches, Spot looked for Race. _Racetrack, where are you?_ A particularly hard punch forced Spot to look away, to continue fighting back. If Spot had looked for a second longer, he would've seen the reason Race couldn't help him.

Race was sitting frozen against the wall. His eyes focused on the barrel of the revolver that was trained on him. He let his gaze wander to Spot, and flinched as Spot was repeatedly beaten over the face. The sound of a cocked trigger brought his attention back to the gun. He could see a faint tremble in Pulitzer's hand. Pulitzer brought the other hand up to steady the gun and pointed it at Race's head. Race closed his eyes and waited. _Spot, help me…_

Spot could barely open his eyes; his face was bloodied and swollen. His vision was getting blurry around the edges, and he could feel his consciousness leaving him. The man stopped, and Spot breathed a sigh of relief. Then a fist connected with his stomach. He grunted as the breath left his body, and he tried to curl up. The man pinned him down, wrenching his shoulders back. Spot felt a tear escape his eyes, stinging his cuts. _Race, I counted on you being there, so where are you?_

Pulitzer's hand shook so much that he gave up trying to hold it still. He gave the gun to a crony, saying, "Sykes, kill him." Spot looked up. Squinting through the red haze of hardening blood, he saw the gun, and could only assume its target. His previous thoughts of Race's abandon left his mind, and with the last of his strength, he flung off the weakening men. _My body may be broken, but my spirit isn't…yet._

Spot ran into Sykes, biting him on the leg. _I…BIT him? _Sykes pulled the trigger in surprise. Spot screamed. He tackled Sykes, then looked over at Racetrack. He was sitting motionless against the balcony. There was a hole in the railing beside him. _Wait, a hole in the railing?_Spot looked closer at Race. He was breathing heavily and blinking. _Race was alive!_ Spot let out a cry of joy. A second gun shot sounded. Spot's body exploded in pain.

Race shook as the bullet entered the railing inches from his face. _Spot… BIT him? Idiot, he could've killed me._ But Race forgot that thought as Sykes turned the gun to Spot. Race yelled, but he couldn't stop the second gun shot.

Race screamed. "Pulitzer, you bastard, you bastard, you damn bastard!" He scrambled over to Spot and caught his head before it hit the marble ground. Spot smiled.

"Race," Spot said weakly. "Where was ya? I waited an' waited an' ya neva showed up." Spot closed his eyes briefly, then gazed into Race's eyes.

"Spot, ya know that I couldn't have done nothing. Spot, I tried, I tried, I tried…" Race broke off, tears rolling off his cheeks and landing around Spot's head. One tear landed on his face, and Spot winced as salt entered his wounds.

"Ya know, I've neva seen ya… cry before." Spot reached up a shaky hand and wiped away his tears with his thumb. His hand lingered on Race's cheek, but his strength gave out, and his hand dropped limply to his side. Race continued to cry. He grabbed Spot's hand.

"Race, ya know, it's not bad ta cry. Sometimes it lets your true feelings come through." A tear escaped Spot's eye. _I gotta tell him…_

"Spot, do ya know what? I gotta tell a somethin'."

"Well, I ain't gonna live foreva." Spot looked up at Race expectantly.

"Um, Spot, I'm-" _queer. That's stupid. Take two. _"I-"_love ya. Like shit I'm in love_…

"Get on wit it," Spot whispered.

_Ah, screw it, I can't tell Spot._

"Nevermind," Race whispered back.

Spot licked his lips. He gazed into Race's eyes. _At least my last living sight will be a good one…_

"Race, talk ta me. I don't wanna die hearin' that bastard's voice," Spot said. He gestured to Pulitzer, squeezing Race's hand tightly.

"Well, I ain't good at this kinda stuff, but I'll try. Do ya remember when Brooklyn came an' raised all hell on the Crib back at the Manhattan Distribution Centa?" Spot smiled, remembering, and whispered, "Neva fear, Brooklyn is here."

Race nodded. "An' when ya first met David, ya thought he was a hoity-toity rich man. Ya almost refused ta help us out. And when we first met." Race's voice broke, but he recovered quickly. "Ya saved my life."

"Tell me about it. Remind me one last time." The two looked up as Pulitzer started making a speech. "Race forget 'im. Talk ta me," Spot pleaded.

"Well, I rememba that day clearly. It was rainin' hard. Jack sent me to give a message to the 'Brooklyn King'. Jack said I'd know 'im when I saw 'im. So I'se on the Brooklyn Bridge, lookin' in the riva, ya know, 'cause the rain make all those ripples when it hits the wata and it was like art, ya know? So, I'se lookin', an' I lean ova too far. I slip, an' next thing I know, I'se hangin' on ta the edge for my life. I'se slippin' and then-"

"An' then? An' then what?" Spot widened his eyes if frustration.

"Spot," Race paused. _I gotta tell him now…_ "Ya, ya got's really blue eyes." _Crap._

"…Thanks. So, what happened?" Spot asked.

"Well, ya know, I thought's, well, I'se gonna die, an' then ya grabbed my arms an' pulled me up. When I saw you was so… _cute?_ um… short, I'se sure you'se the 'king' Jack was talkin' about. An' then ya didn't know me, so you'se yelling and-"

Spot didn't like the turn of the story, so he cut in.

"Race, promise me somethin'. Promise me that you ain't gonna die like me. You'se gonna die old. Promise?"

"Spot…?"

"Ya promise? I can't have ya die like this. I'se worked so hard so ya wouldn't end like this. Promise me." Spot tried to continue, but he coughed up a trickle of blood. His eyes looked so different, so much softer than the Brooklyn ice that Race was accustomed to. Racetrack's eyes filled with tears again.

"Spot- I promise," Race whispered. _I love you, Spot. Don't leave me. _A small smirk appeared on Spot's face as he closed his eyes.

"Now was that so hard?" Spot murmured. _Why is this so hard? Three words. I love you_. His breath left his body, anddidn't fill his lungs again. Racetrack bent over Spot's body, sobbing and whispering, "Spot, I love you."

---------------

_Link:_ Waaah! sobs It's so perfect! Waaaah!

**Hopscotch:** sniffs That was… not bad… for an idiot like you… sniffs again

_Link:_ Hopscotch, give me a hug!

**Hopscotch:** hugs Link Promise me…

_Link:_ I promise. still crying

**Hopscotch:** pulls away Um… well. Get back to writing, I guess.

_Link:_ Yeah. I guess. sniffs and wipes tears

**Hopscotch:** Now was that so hard?

_Link:_ starts crying again …Yeh-es!

(A/N: Bleh, the asteriks don'twork! If the previous disclaimers were confusing, try adding asteriks around the words that convey actions. Yep. Enjoy the story, and don't kill us because we killed Spot. It works out later, I promise...)


	8. Painful Emotions

**Disclaimerbot:** I can't take this anymore. This stuff sucks!

**Hopscotch:** Hey, if it sucks, why do you let us write it?

_Link: _Look! I wrote chapter 8!

**Disclaimerbot** and** Hopscotch:** Shut up Link.

_Link: _Sorry.... well, I posted it, just so you know.

**Hopscotch:** That's great. Let us continue our battle now.

_Link:_ What's it about?

**Hopscotch: **Whether we should post the next chapter or not...

**Disclaimerbot:** Idiot. She just said she posted it.

**Hopscotch: _DIE, EVIL DISCLAIMERBOT!_**

**Disclaimerbot:** Meep.

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Promise Me...

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Pulitzer finished his speech just as Spot took his last breath. "Let the message that I am about to send you through those doors show you what happens to those who oppose me!" Sykes came over to help Racetrack up, but Race just pushed him aside. The sympathetic look in his eyes told Race that he hadn't _wanted_ to kill Spot, but it made no difference, because he _had_ killed him. And for that, Racetrack would always hate him. Race carried Spot with one arm beneath his knees and one around his shoulders so that Spot's head leaned against Race's chest. Even though Spot was the slightly taller than Race, he was much lighter. Race had no problem carrying him down the steps to the bottom level of the World building. When he got to the door, he stopped. The guards reached for the handles. Race looked down at Spot, noticing his own hands shaking. Race took a deep breath and tried to calm his fear. _This is stupid. I'm going to be with friends now. _But that's what scared Race. _The newsies: what were they going to do? _But he couldn't avoid them, so he shivered and pushed all emotion aside. Race stood before the great gold doors with his head bowed and a stony look on his face. The doors opened slowly to reveal Jack, Mush, and Blink standing at the front of a crowd of newsies. Because of the shadows of the building, they couldn't see Race at first. When he stepped out into the sunlight with Spot in his arms, Jack turned pale, Blink's one eye widened to an impossible size, and a single tear leaked out of Mush's eye before he broke down on Blink's shoulder. Boots had shoved himself through the crown and seeing Racetrack cradling Spot's body, he turned to the crowd and yelled, "SPOT CONLON IS DEAD!" Everyone in the crowd took up the cry. Racetrack shook with anger. _How did Boots suddenly get the authority to announce Spot's death? Shouldn't that be his job? After all, he was the one to witness the unfortunate event._ He dropped to his knees, still cradling Spot. _Now, was that so hard?_ He leaned over Spot and whispered, "Actually, it was harder than you could imagine."

The newsies crowded around Race. They were all very concerned, and each one wanted to be the first to find out what happened on the balcony. Jack tried to push them back saying, "Give 'im room! He's gotta breathe!" No one listened to Jack, and for the first time in his life, Jack didn't know what to do. He glanced at Racetrack and saw a subtly frightened look on his face. Jack grabbed Race's arm and dragged him to his feet. "Get up," he commanded at a whisper. Race looked startled, but slowly stood up to face the rest of the crowd. Spot's body was bumped around quite a bit during the process, and Race flinched every time. Jack started pulling Race towards the Newsies' Lodging House as soon as he had both feet on the ground. Jack made a small path through the sea of newsies.

Race tried valiantly to keep up with Jack, but after a while, he began to lag behind. Jack looked back, and saw Race struggling with Spot's body. Even thought Spot was small and light, it had to get heavy after the distance they had gone. Race attempted to arrange Spot's body in his arms, but stumbled and fell to his knees. Race's arms were shaking from the strain, but he refused to let his friend be dropped to the ground. Race gently laid him down and wrapped his shaking arms around himself. He rocked back and forth with silent tears streaming down his dirt-streaked cheeks. Jack could hear the other newsies talking nearby, and he knew that they would be coming by any minute. He reached out his hand, and almost pulled back, reluctant to disturb his friend's grieving. Then logic took over, and he grabbed Race's wrist and pulled him to his feet. Race tried to glare at Jack through his tears, but just managed to look even more pathetic. Jack placed Spot's body over his shoulder, paying no attention to the blood soaking through his shirt. He straightened up, secured his grip on Racetrack, and pulled him to the lodging house.

When they got there, Jack realized they had a problem. Kloppman wouldn't allow a dead body past the front door. He tried to explain this to Racetrack. "Race, ya know that Kloppman won't let 'im in." Race didn't say anything. He reached up and pulled the body from Jack's shoulder. As he clutched the body, he staggered backwards from the added weight. Race protectively wrapped his arms around Spot's body so that Spot was tight against his chest. Jack tried again. "Race," he began. Race glared up with red-rimmed eyes.

"What? You gonna leave him here? Do ya have any idea what he did for me? Do you have _any idea_ what it's like to have someone die for you? Now you ask me to leave him? He did everything for me, and I don't even know why. Now you're asking me to _leave him_?" Racetrack tried to continue, but he choked on his tears. Jack blinked, shocked. It was true, he had no idea what had happened during the week at the jail, or on the balcony. But he knew that he had to get Race to let go of Spot, or Race would never move on.

"Race, you're actin' like a goil. Snap out of it." Jack continued haltingly as Race sobbed. "Race, if you don't get up, I'll… I'll throw him off the Brooklyn Bridge."

Race abruptly stopped crying and looked up quickly. He snapped his eyes back to the ground, but Jack saw the panic in his eyes. Even in his grief, Race knew that would be the highest insult to the Brooklyn newsies and to Spot himself. Jack wouldn't go through with his threat, but Race wasn't going to test him. Race knelt to set Spot's body on the ground, rubbed his face with the backs of his hands, succeeding in smudging the dirt on his face, and stood up. He took several deep breaths to calm himself while Jack went to look for a place to put Spot's body. He finally decided to put it underneath the fire escape, so that it was out of sight, but still easy to get to. Race picked up Spot and brought him over. He set the body down and looked very reluctant to leave him there, but after a glance at Jack's stony expression, he turned and walked into the lodging house. Instead of heading the tables nearby to start a poker game like he did on most nights, Race went straight to his bed and collapsed onto it face down. Several of the newsies who were already inside gave Race concerned looks, but didn't say anything. They looked at Jack for an explanation, but he just shook his head and sat down on his bed.

Jack watched as Race lay on his bed, unmoving. Jack felt bad for Race, knowing that Spot and he had spent a lot of time together. Jack had always been close to both of them, but Race's grieving hurt him more than Spot's death. Race had always been the emotional, caring guy, while Spot was the tough, streetwise leader. _Friendship is far more tragic than love. Lose a lover, and life goes on. Lose a friend, and the pain lasts so much longer. _Jack knew that they had been close friends, no matter how they tried to deny it, and he couldn't help feeling anger at Spot. He watched Race's back rise and fall rhythmically, indicating that he was asleep.

_Damnit Spot. Why'd you do this? You knew that Race wouldn't have been able to handle a blow like this, not now. Spot, he trusted you! The others… they're sad, vengeful, but not like Race. He's ready to die too._

Jack leaned over and looked across the row at Race. Even though he was across the room, the moonlight shining in showed Race's blotchy, tear-stained face. As Jack watched, Race began to shake. He mumbled words that Jack could barely make out.

"Oh God, I killed him, I killed him. Spot, please don't, please come back…" He broke off and didn't move again. Jack leaned back against the bunk and stared at the ceiling. _Racetrack thinks it's _his_ fault? It's not his fault… it's… it's MINE!_ If he'd just taken Racetrack away, they could have gotten Spot away at a later time, with a better plan. _Another beating would have killed Spot, but at least Race wouldn't have been there._

Jack shook his head to clear it. Spot had given everything so that Race could escape, and Jack had ruined it. He had brought this tragedy upon Race. _Spot, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. I undid all you were trying to do to save him. _Jack turned over and felt a warm wetness run across the bridge of his nose to drip onto the pillow. _Great, I'm crying. I'm supposed to be a leader. Show no emotion, right Spot? Yeah, emotion my ass._ Spot couldn't show emotion, not in Brooklyn. His only instinct was action, and by acting, he had given Race the greatest gift… and the greatest pain. He had given Racetrack his life.

_Do you have _any idea _what it's like to have someone die for you? _Race was right, he had no idea. And probably never would. But it couldn't be much of an honor, knowing that they would be alive if they hadn't gotten in the way. Jack could never do what Spot had done. Jack never cared enough. Spot had seen the world in black and white, do it or die. For him, there were only two outcomes to that situation, either Racetrack dies or Racetrack lives. There were no exceptions. Spot would do whatever it took to make sure he lived, take any means. For Jack, there were always gray areas. Jack's whole life was a series of careful plans and thought-out actions. If he had been on the balcony, he would have lost Race, deciding the best plan of action. Not Spot. Spot had thrown his life away just to save his friend. He didn't care what happened to him, as long as Race was okay.

_Spot, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't listen. I didn't understand. I couldn't save you, and I shouldn't have saved Racetrack like that. But did you have to die?_ Jack closed his eyes. _Of course you did. Because I'm an idiot. I barged in to save you, and I ruined your life. Literally. _Racetrack shifted again, shaking Jack from his thoughts. He was shaking, and his pillow was wet. Jack climbed down from the bunk. He stood and watched as Race slept. _I'm sorry, Spot. I really tried to help. I really tried…_ Jack sat down backwards on a nearby chair, resting his chin on the high back. Watching Race, he felt his eyes grow heavy. He fought to stay awake, but the darkness enveloped him.

--------------------

**Hopscotch:** die.... disclaimer... bot...

**Disclaimerbot:** haha, couldn't... keep... up... with me...

_Link:_ Hey guys. Oh... I'll leave you two alone.

**Hopscotch** and **Disclaimerbot: **Die.

_Link: _.... Okay....


	9. Realization

**Disclaimerbot: **As of now, Hopscotch and Link have been locked away in a "Funny Farm" and have refused to give any more disclaimers in the future. We should all celebrate. The world does have some good left in it. So, from now on, there shall be no disclaimers because you all know full well that neither Hopscotch nor Link owns anything related to Newsies. This right goes to Disney. Thank you.

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Promise Me

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Silent streams of tears came unbidden to Race's eyes. He silently cursed himself for being so emotional, and tried in vain to blink them back. The tears didn't matter much, it was okay for a newsie to mourn for a dead friend, but he couldn't understand why he felt so empty now that Spot was gone. He sniffled, turned on his side, and pulled the covers even tighter around himself. The tears kept flowing, and finally, Race gave up on holding them back. He let his tears dampen his pillow, knowing full well that he was going to regret this in the morning. He didn't care anymore. The other newsies had already come in and gone to sleep. Despite their efforts to keep quiet, he had heard their whispers of concern. To Race, it sounded more like pity, which was the last thing he needed. Not one of the newsies had come up to him to say they were sorry, or asked if he was all right. They just assumed it. It was Racetrack, the wisecracking gambler who had the best poker face in all of New York. Who was he kidding? The tears had finally finished coming out, and it left his lips salty. He licked them dry, then got up to get a glass of water. With a quick glance around, he saw that all the newsies were asleep, and he wouldn't be submitted to their pity. Race got up and made his way towards the bathroom door. He hit his foot on more than a couple of bed frames, but managed to get to the bathroom in one piece.

Racetrack closed the door and turned on the light. He squinted at the reflection in the mirror, frowning at the puffy, red eyes that squinted back at him. His swollen eyes adjusted to the light quickly, and he grabbed a nearby glass and filled it with water from the pump. The cold water slid down his throat, but he choked on the last swallow. For some reason, it made him think of the way Spot had choked on the blood in his mouth right before he had died. He could still see the smirk on Spot's face, the ice-blue eyes pleading with him not to do something stupid. _"You'se gonna die old."_ Race closed his eyes in anguish. He couldn't believe he still had tears in him, but they managed to leak out his tightly closed eyelids. He grabbed the sink to steady himself. _Race, you're losing it. What's the matter with you?_ He felt an unbidden wave of nausea wash over him, and he fell into blackness.


	10. Revenge

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Promise Me

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"Race, wake up. Race, RACETRACK!" A violent shake woke Race up. He squinted into the bright lights, a figure coming into focus. It was Kid Blink. Race rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, but was still groggy. "Wha-?"

"Race, you gotta wake up. Spot's body is gone." Race woke up quickly and jumped to his feet. Without another glance at Blink, he ran into the bedroom. All the other newsies were dressed and ready to sell the morning papes. "Where's Jack?" Racetrack demanded. The other newsies pointed towards the open front door. Race ran outside, and nearly ran into Jack. He screamed, "WHERE IS HE?"

Jack took his arm and dragged him to the fire escape. The body was gone, and there wasn't even a blood stain to indicate that there had been a dead body there before. Racetrack glared at Jack and opened his mouth in protest. Jack beat him to it. "Race, don't act like we's the scabbers. When we woke up and you weren't in your bed, we thought that you ran off to do somethin' stupid. We came out here an' Spot's body was gone. We assumed the worst."

"WHY WOULD I DO SOMETHIN' LIKE THAT? I THOUGHT DAT DA NEWSIES KNEW ME BETTA, HELL, I THOUGHT YOU KNEW ME BETTA DAN DAT. WHERE WOULD I TAKE A DEAD BODY JACK? ANSWER ME!"

"I'm sorry, but you overreacted last night, and I didn't know whatcha coulda done. Race, you scared me."

Race stepped back a step in surprise. Jack, scared of _him_? He stood there in silence, not sure of what to say. Jack looked into Racetrack's eyes. "Race, when we woke up, Spot and you was gone. Race, I… I've neva seen ya cry before, and I didn't know what else you woulda done. Race, ya gotta believe me. We's worried for a good reason. Don't think that we don't trust ya, 'cause we do…" Race turned away. Jack kept talking. "Race, we don't want ya to kill someone." Race turned and interrupted him, his eyes gleaming.

"Why not?" Jack stared warily at Race, not sure how to respond. Race blinked and shook his head as he realized what he said. In the distance, he could hear the circulation bell ringing. Jack noticed too, and hesitated, not entirely assured of Race's sanity. "Get outta here. The papes are waitin' for ya," Race said. Jack slowly walked away, then looked back at Race. Race could see him out of the corner of his eye, but refused to acknowledge his presence. He leaned against the building with his back towards Jack. Jack sighed, but didn't comment and walked to get his papes for the day.

Race waited until Jack was out of sight before he stood up straight again. There was a slight breeze and the old fire escape creaked. He looked up it and almost immediately looked away. There was a message scrawled in blood on the wall. It said 'Your Beating'. There was a body tied next to it, and he didn't have to look twice to know whose it was.


	11. Brink of Sanity

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Promise Me

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Race stood next to the bloodied building for most of the morning, trying to figure out how to get out of the Lodging House. _The stink is killing me._ Race cautiously climbed up the old fire escape and untied Spot's body. He lowered Spot to the ground and climbed off the fire escape. He looked around for a shovel, but when he couldn't find one, he settled for a sheet of metal from the roof. Race picked up the metal and began digging a hole. The sharp edges cut into Racetrack's shaking hands more than into the packed dirt, and the cuts on his hands made it difficult to hold on to the metal. Race finally made a hole large enough for him to lie in without being seen. He threw the bloody metal to the ground and picked up Spot. Race placed him in the hole and began filling the hole in with his hands. The dirt rubbed against Racetrack's cuts and he had to stop and wipe as much dirt out as possible. _Why am I doing this? Spot took my punishment without making a scene. The least I can do is suffer for him._

Race finished filling the hole and stood up. He wiped his sore hands on his pants. Race looked around, searching for a proper burial marker. A splash of white caught his eye. Race bent over and picked up a small, plastic dog. It was completely white, except for a black spot on his back. Race smiled, knowing it was perfect. He buried it's feet over Spot's grave and stood back to admire his handiwork. Race wiped the sweat off of his face and looked back up at the writing on the wall. He figured that Pulitzer was trying to kill him, and he didn't want to die standing around. Race sat down and thought of a plan. _Spot, what would you have done? Would you have avenged my death if I was in your place?_ He hit the wall of the Lodging House with his fists. No plans were entering Race's mind. _I can't do this._ Race shook his head in frustration and headed for the World building.

Skittery, the guard that Jack had set for Race, came outside to check on him. He watched as Race came around the back of the building and went out onto the streets. Skittery didn't know what to do, so he sat on the front porch and waited until Jack finished selling his papes.

Race looked around his surroundings. There didn't seem to be any guards posted anywhere other than the front gate. Happy that something finally worked out, Race began to climb the stone wall. Halfway up, his hat blew off. He cursed quietly, but decided to get it on his way back. He quickly scaled the rest of the wall and caught his breath as he perched on the top. Race jumped down from the top of the wall into the garden below. He didn't see anyone there, so he ran to the building and slipped inside. There were voices coming from a nearby hallway, and they led him straight to Pulitzer and Sykes. Race rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He felt better than when he made a good profit at the horse races. He just had to wait until they were a little closer…


	12. Fight to the Death

Jack came home with a smile on his face. The headline had been good. "Hey Skitts. Did Racetrack do anythin'?"

"I don't know."

Jack frowned. "What do ya mean- 'I don't know'?"

"Just that. He left, and I wasn't sure whether to follow or not, so I didn't."

Jack growled. This was _not_ the ending of the day that he wanted. "Well, let's go find him." He grabbed a couple of newsies from the Lodging House and assigned jobs.

"Mush, I want you and Blink to be the backup. If we'se dying, you'se gonna kill the enemy. Got it?" They nodded.

"Skittery, I want you to… stick with Boots, be a scout. Tell me what you see up ahead. I'll be the commander. Any questions?" No one responded, so Jack said, "Let's go."

_Just a little closer…NOW!_ Race jumped on Sykes right when he passed by the hallway Race was hiding in. Race strangled Sykes the best he could. Sykes felt for his gun, but when he got it, he couldn't aim it at Race. Pulitzer grabbed the gun and aimed it at Race's head. Racetrack looked up, and jumped off Sykes as soon as Pulitzer pulled the trigger. The gunshot went off, and Sykes fell to the ground clutching his shoulder. Pulitzer dropped the gun in shock and turned to run to his office. Race knelt down and grabbed the gun, but Pulitzer locked himself in his room before Racetrack got a good shot at him. He heard Sykes stumble to his feet, and turned to point the gun at him instead.

"Don't move or I'll kill you!" Race screamed in rage.

Sykes held his shoulder, but stopped advancing on Racetrack. He held up his injured arm. "Hey kid, you don't want to do that. What did I do to you? I'll make it up, just tell me what I did."

Race spat at Sykes's feet. "Don't gimme that! YOU KILLED SPOT!"

"Spot? I killed your dog? Look kid, I'm really sorry, but dogs don't live forever. He would've died soon anyway, I'm sure." Sykes slowly reached into his back pocket for a knife. Racetrack's eyes widened.

"MY DOG? WHY YOU BASTARD—" Race tried to keep yelling, but he had to fight back tears. Sykes brought the knife forward. Race pulled the trigger. Sykes flinched, but nothing hit him. He looked back at Race and saw him pulling the trigger multiple times.

"Kid, can't you take a hint? It's empty." Then he lunged forward with the knife outstretched.

Race caught Sykes's wrist, but fell backwards with the impact. He kneed Sykes in the stomach, giving him time to roll away from the knife's point.


	13. Final Parting

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Promise Me

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Jack and his group made it to Pulitzer's office, and they saw Race's hat on the ground.

"Hey Jack, look at this." Jack was uninterested. Mush picked it up and pocketed it. The newsies broke through the gate and rushed into the front hall of the World building. They saw Race pinned to the ground, Sykes's knife to his throat.

Mush yelled out, "No, Racetrack!" and Race saw them. He kicked Sykes's legs, making him slip. The knife moved, and instead of stabbing Race's throat, it hit his chest.

Race looked at Jack and smiled slightly. Jack put Race's head in his lap.

"Hey Race."

"Hey."

Jack put a hand on Race's wound, trying to stop the blood.

"Hold on there, don't give up now. We still need ya."

Race smiled. "Jack, I neva understood ya. How can you be a leada wit ya soft heart?" Jack looked in Race's eyes, catching the double meaning. "You'll neva survive out der on da streets."

"That's right, Race. So ya gotta make it. You gotta show me how ta be strong, 'cause I don't know how." Jack's eyes shone with tears.

"Just 'cause you'se afraid don't mean you can't be strong. You gotta stick ya head up, and neva look back, no matta what. You got's that, Jack?" Race stopped, startled at the sudden insight. "Jack, I gotta tell you – " Race stopped as he coughed up blood.

"Race, whatcha gonna tell me? Don't die on me, please."

Spot's words echoed in Race's mind. _You promise?_

"I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promise," Race whispered, his mind fogging up.

Jack whispered, "What promise?" But Race's eyes had already closed. Jack bowed his head. The other newsies crowded around. Sykes's cold body lay on the ground, forgotten. Race lay in Jack's lap like a sleeping child, his face free of the worries he had while he was living. Jack looked up, staring into the faces of Mush, Blink, Skittery, and Boots. Mush was crying openly. The others just stood there, understanding that this was what happened. Newsies died everyday, this was no different. Jack stood up, letting Race slump in his arms.

"What're you gonna do now, Jack?" Boots said.

"_We'se_ gonna go home," Jack returned.

They walked through the gates. Mush took out Race's hat and handed it to Jack. Jack took it, and placed it on Race's head. He took a deep breath. _Stick ya head up, and neva look back, no matter what…_ Jack exhaled and whispered, "Race, I don't know if I can, but I'll try, for you and Spot. I promise…"

1


	14. Epilogue

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Promise Me

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"Just because you'se afraid don't mean you can't be strong. You gotta stick ya head up and neva look back, no matta what. You got's that Jack?" Race stopped, startled at the sudden insight. "Jack, I gotta tell you - " Race stopped as he coughed up blood.

"Race, whatcha gonna tell me? Don't die on me, please."

Race looked up at Jack, but something caught his eye. He glanced past the fighting newsies and saw a figure leaning against the wall.

"Race?" Jack asked worriedly.

The kid looked up and stared straight into Racetrack's eyes.

"Race, what is it?" Jack looked at the others, expecting to see something out of the ordinary.

Race just stared at the boy. _No, this can't be happening, anyone but him..._ The boy's face was small, like the rest of his body. His telltale cane and cold, icy eyes were unmistakeable._No, it can't be..._

Spot pushed off the wall and walked towards Race. The newsies never looked up from the fight, even though Spot walked through the middle of the throng. When he was just a few feet away from Race, he stopped. Spot smiled.

"Ya let me down, Race. Ya promised..." Spot said, but the sparkle in his eyes softened the rebuke.

"Spot..." Race whispered.

Jack looked back at Race. "What did ya say, Race?"

"Race, you promised," said Spot.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry I couldn't keepmy promise," Race struggled to say, his mind fogging up. He tried to see; Spot had come back and Race was not going to die weakly in front of him.

Spot bent over and reached out a hand, taking Race's wrist in his grasp. Race's mind cleared and the pain left his chest. He stood up and embraced Spot. After a moment of confusion, Race felt the hug returned. Then Spot pulled away and held him at arm's length. "I'm proud of you, Race. You could've been a Brooklyn newsie."

Race beamed at the unexpected praise. "I'll consider it when I get back to the Lodging House,"he answered. Spot smiled, a sad glint in his eyes. Race continued, "Spot, I... I love you." He shut his eyes, hoping, praying to whatever god was listening. _Please Spot, love me too._ When Spot didn't reply, Race cautiously opened his eyes. Spot looked at Race for a moment, then turned away. "Let's go," he said impassionately. Race's heart shattered. Tears came to his eyes, and when Spot didn't turn, he sank to the ground.

Spot stopped when he heard Race sniffling. He glanced at Race and saw the tears streaming down his face. Kneeling, he took Race's arms in his hands. "Race, don't cry. I gave my life up for you. Isn't that proof that I love you?"

Race wiped his eyes. "You... died? But you're here! In the World building! I don't under-" His eyes widened. "But that means I'm..." Spot simply nodded.

"Let's go," Spot repeated. This time, Race followed, willing to go anywhere, so long as Spot was with him.


End file.
